doon, the boy who had commented on Dick's riches that day the two met.
"An' does your governor own dat bank?" Tim asked, as Dick stopped the runabout in front of the institution.
"Well, most of it, I guess."
"An' can he go in dere an' git money whenever he wants it?"
"Yes, I guess he can."
"Say!" exclaimed Tim, as he looked weakly at Dick, "an youse is his son?"
"Yes."
"An' youse is takin' me an' dese (indicating some of the other youngsters) out fer a ride in dis gasolene gig? Us what ain't got a cent?"
"Yes; why not?" asked Dick, with a smile.
"Well, all I've got t' say is dat dis is as near bein' rich as I ever expects t' be, an' say, it's dead white of youse ; dat's what it is. Why, dem rich guys in N' York would no more t'ink of treatin' us dis way dan dey would jump off de dock. Dat's straight!"
"Oh, I guess they would if they thought about it, but they probably don't know how many boys and girls would like to get out and see the country," said Dick, not wanting to take too much credit to himself.
"Like pie!" was Tim's contemptuous rejoinder. Then, as he was gazing rapturously at the entrance to the bank, he suddenly started as he saw a man coming down the steps.
